Battle of Wills
by Naeriel
Summary: "You," the prince starts accusatorily, feeling a dark heat creeping up his cheeks whenever he looks at Lhiannah's slack posture and stupid, indifferent face, "are making me late." - A series of Drabbles including Thranduil and Lhiannah, his future wife (Legola's mother).
1. Report Day

Summary: "You," the prince starts accusatorily, feeling a dark heat creeping up his cheeks whenever he looks at Lhiannah's slack posture and stupid, indifferent face, "are making me _lat_e."

* * *

**Report Day**

* * *

Lhiannah's forehead is bleeding from a wide gash cut into the flesh just above her blonde eyebrow, blood from the wound trickling down over the captain's right eye, running along her cheek and lip and chin before dripping off to the edge of her jaw to stain the white shoulder of her captain's coat crimson. Thranduil sees it when Lhiannah's tongue darts out to taste the fresh blood as it slides over her lip. It makes her grin as though the flavour pleases her.

Prince Thranduil makes a face when he witnesses the act; uncouth. How like Lhiannah.

He hopes she gives up soon but he knows that she will not. Instead, she stands, sturdy as ever, grinning stupidly at Thranduil and almost begging for more.

Thranduil takes a shaky breath and notes his own injuries with care in the meantime – both visible and invisible ones. He has at least one broken rib to deal with on one side of his body. He can also taste blood in the inside of his mouth from where he's cut his cheek open against his back teeth, and the shaky muscles in his arms can barely grip the hilt of his sword after Lhiannah's unwieldy blows had cut his stamina in half.

Such is, he supposes, the price of trying to deal with the captain's guard.

"I think that is enough!" Turion chimes in, looking bored as he moves between the two equally stubborn elves.

Lhiannah scoffs but lowers her sword, "What? Really?" she gives him a pointed look but Turion can tell that she is tremendous relieved that he intercepted.

Thranduil arches a brow and his smirk is instantly in place as he too notices her relieved expression.

* * *

Thranduil affects an officious air and looks down at this week's mountain of paperwork assigned to him by his father's councilmen. It is due in six hours. Said paperwork does not seem impressed with his officious manner, as it does not shrink back upon facing his wrath or deign to do itself for fear of possible reprisal.

A moment later, the elf prince catches himself on the edge of a sigh and deeply disturbed by the mere concept of letting such a distasteful act to be born from within himself, Thranduil forcibly drags it back into his chest and swallows it whole.

He has work to do.

He reaches forward and picks up the first report. When he does, his sleeve slides backwards on his wrist just a little, causing the material of his uniform to brush against the newly formed scab there. It itches.

His brow furrows; he may or may not glare.

The scab, unmoved by his hostility – much like the paperwork – continues to bother him, rather unapologetically.

Thranduil bites the inside of his cheek and continues to draw the report forward despite the discomfort, ignoring the scab because it is – to him – as comparatively distasteful as the sigh had been. One of his station does not _itch._

That decided, he moves his hand toward the quill, sits up a little straighter in his chair and…

… cringes when the muscles in his back complain.

Vocally.

He surmises that the tumble he took yesterday afternoon with Lhiannah has something to do with it; his nose automatically wrinkles in annoyance when he thinks about the things he has been reduced to ever since his father approved her as the guard's captain.

The prince stops that line of thought when he realizes that he has let himself get distracted again. He has reports to do. Today is report day. He will get his reports done and in on time at all costs.

Which means he will ignore the itchy scabs on his wrist; he will pay no mind to the ache in his back either, or the sprain in his ankle, or the cut on his lip that throbs every now and again, whenever he frowns (which is more often than not.)

Most important of all, he will pay no mind to the migraine he gets, whenever he grits his teeth and thinks that yesterday Lhiannah really stepped her boundaries. How dare she speak to him like that? They were no longer bickering children. They were adults now and she owed him the slightest bit of respect.

But to stay on topic, all of that means nothing right now.

Because today is report day. He will think of nothing but reports.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Thranduil storms down the hallway, passing by a few guards that quickly scramble for cover. An upset Prince is just as bad as their Captain on a bad day.

Meanwhile, in her study, Lhiannah stretches languidly in her chair and takes a sip of her wine as Clodhiel changes the bandages on her wounds from yesterday for her and keeps talking on and on about her crush on Turion.

"More wine," is all Lhiannah has to say on the matter and Clodhiel smiles beatifically as she obliges her. Just as she is pouring more wine, Prince Thranduil makes it to the study. By forcibly kicking the door open.

Lhiannah blinks, "You are already back for mo…" she starts, but gets cut off because Thranduil is in no mood to hear her talk.

"You," the prince starts accusatorily, feeling a dark heat creeping up his cheeks whenever he looks at Lhiannah's slack posture and stupid, indifferent face, "are making me _lat_e."

Clodhiel turns to look at Lhiannah when she hears the accusation, clearly scandalized at this new (and exciting) development in her friend's life.

Lhiannah stares.

A moment.

And then, "Are you on your cycle?" she jests.

Without realizing he is doing it, Thranduil makes a completely undignified, slightly high-pitched sound of annoyance in the back of his throat. Far worse than any sigh could be.

The poor elf is promptly horrified at himself. And the fact that Lhiannah may be actually laughing at him.

Thranduil glowers; he wordlessly turns around and storms off.

That day is the first time in his entire life that he turns in a late report.

It is, however, not the _last_ time either.

A/N: What do you guys think? Hate it? Love it? Delete it? Never write again? Review guys! Should I make a story with an actual plot? Tell me everything! Give me your sooooooul! :3

Thanks for reading!


	2. Mission & Feelings

Missions and Feelings

* * *

Lhiannah fidgeted and looked down at her nails and then back at Thranduil. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it when he glared sideways at her.

She fidgeted some more, on purpose this time.

Thranduil sniffed and stopped looking sideways at her, deciding that it would be best to ignore her instead.

Lhiannah took a deep breath, "I am…"

"If you are going to tell me you are bored again rest assured I heard you the first five times. I remain unmoved," Thranduil said as he kept looking around.

She groaned inwardly and wondered if he had decided to come just to antagonize her. She had specifically asked for Turion's company but the Prince insisted in accompanying her. She scratched her nose and tried to look concentrated on their task when she suddenly turned to her partner, "Any sign of him yet?"

"No," Thranduil said shortly and then turned away from her.

Lhiannah snorted and folded her thin arms across her chest and made a face, "Ugh! I do not see why we should deal with this! I say let the humans deal with it," she whispered furiously as she hated to meddle in humans affairs, much less aiding them with such frivolous matters.

When Thranduil said nothing, she continued to vent her frustration.

"I mean this is hardly a matter _I_ should be concerned with. Anyone else could have come instead! I am a _Captain_ now! In case you have not-"

Thranduil suddenly whirled around, startling her so bad that she jerked away from him, "Just, shut up." The older man said calmly despite his sudden motion.

Lhiannah scowled but kept her mouth shut. It was bad enough that she was here, even worse that she was here with Thranduil. She glared at him before she shifted her gaze towards the small hut in the woods, "What if he is not coming out? What if he knows we are here? What if he is not the person we want? What if he is innocent? Huh? Hmm?" she asked him multiple questions on purpose, keen on annoying him to oblivion.

Nothing.

Thranduil's face muscles didn't even twitch.

Amazing.

"He has to come out at some point," Thranduil started with infinite (and blizzard-cold) calm; "If you do not keep quiet then he will definitely know we are here. He is definitely the person we are after; if he is innocent or not it does not concern us."

Thranduil continued to _look _down at her.

Lhiannah glared.

Thranduil remained impassive.

Lhiannah wished he was not her Prince for the moment so that she could kick him. _Hard._

Almost as if he could read her mind, Thranduil's eyebrow moved upwards, but even still, the essence of the _look_ (or the implications behind it) never changed.

"Well," Lhiannah spoke up again, "Then maybe-"

Her entreaty was cut short when the Prince suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth. Though her first instinct was to struggle until she was released, she quickly repressed it, trusting Thranduil's senses. Besides she was quite aware that he rarely touched anyone for any reason. She flickered her eyes to the side and she was able to see a shadowy blur in the distance as Thranduil shifted closer to her.

"I saw him," He whispered, lips close to her ear. His warm breath against her ear sent pleasurable chills running down her spine. Strands of blonde-silver hair flopped forward to caress her cheek and she was suddenly aware of how close he was.

"He is coming straight toward us," he continued, oblivious to the change that had overtaken her.

Lhiannah nodded, not able to trust her voice at the moment.

Thranduil stepped out from behind the tree that was shielding both he and the she-elf, motioning Lhiannah to follow him.

Keeping as quiet as possible, Lhiannah followed her childhood friend and her Prince into the darkness which seemed to swallow them whole.

* * *

Clodhiel held on to Lhiannah's arm tightly and _giggled_.

"Okay, what is going on?" Lhiannah asked and drew her brows together. A giggling Clodhiel was not a good thing.

"I heard a rumor…" she started, "You have been kissing a certain Prince, haven't you!?"

Lhiannah blinked. And then made a face. "No! Ew! Of course not!"

"Well, good. He is a bad influence on the tender love between pure and beautiful maidens anyway."

Lhiannah blinked at that too, "Thranduil? A bad influence?" She could maybe see that in a general sense (since he was kind of a moron), but not in the playboy manner Clodhiel seemed to be suggesting.

"Oh most certainly!" Clodhiel assured her, "With all those sultry frowns and harsh words? What girl would not be drawn to that?! Classic bad-boy-with-a-mysterious-past technique! It is very clever of him, but I can hardly abide by such misleading if, admittedly, slightly-intriguing behaviour. Really, what a devious way to lure women from their brethren and into the dark clutches of a man!"

Lhiannah thought about that for a moment and tried to find some sort of hidden appeal in the permanent wrinkle set in Thranduil's brow, or anything charming about the fact that yes, he called her an idiot every chance he got, up until the moment she was forced to prove to him that he was actually the idiot, for always making her hit him obligatorily. It wasn't like she wanted to do it.

"I am sorry, Clo, I just do not see it," she offered, after a brief moment of silent review.

As the two women walked down the hallway, Lhiannah found herself thinking about last week.

She could almost feel the Prince's hand on her mouth or his warm breath tickling her ear.

She suddenly came to an abrupt halt and her eyes widened as her heart was racing abnormally fast and her belly was in turmoil.

"I think… I am not feeling well?"

* * *

**A/N: ohhh, like it? hate it? Please review and let me know :)**


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